A Study in Session
by thecapefangirl
Summary: John has fell into a deep depression ever since Sherlock has died. None of his friends or therapists seem to be able to help him, or that is until a new doctor arrives in town... (contains Johnlock)
1. Chapter 1

**_Hello Bokkies, back with another Sherlock fanfic._**

 ** _So I had to take my Avengers fic down because of many reasons beside the fact it was terrible and had no idea what I was doing. Instead this idea popped into my head and it is certainly much better in in my opinion, what about yours? (yes that was a cheep way to get you to comment)._**

 ** _Hopefully this is a lot more light-hearted than some of my previous entries._**

 ** _Love from thecapefangirl_**

 ** _XXX_**

"Oh, John," Mrs Hudson said softy as she entered the room carrying a cup of tea, "it is about time we have a chat."

John was huddled under a blanket on the couch, staring at his inactive blog page.

Again.

He had been doing this for weeks, reading over the names of the past cases. He could not help but to smile at the memories at those cases brought to mind.

There was his first case with Sherlock, A Study in Pink, when he recounts the tale of the cabbie poisoning people because Moriarty paid him to do so, but that was the only the skeleton of what the blog contained. He very well couldn't tell them how the amazement that he had shown towards Sherlock's deduction skills changed to attraction.

From that night when John killed the cabbie on all he could think about was his partner. The way he looked in that stupid hat, to his eyes that managed to understand everything about him but never saw his true feelings.

And now he could never tell Sherlock about them.

It had now been three whole months since Sherlock jumped from St Barts and he is still in a state of shock. Every single morning he woke up expecting to find brains in the fridge and blood in the microwave, but there were only old pickles and a cold pie. The whole atmosphere of where ever he went was jus cold and dead.

Ever since that day he had been living out of 221B Baker Street. He had only gone out to the shops if Mrs Hudson refused to buy groceries for him. His only source of entertainment was to stare blankly at the TV or read through the old cases like he was doing now.

In a simple wrapped up statement: he was extremely messed up.

"I'm fine Mrs Hudson. Just want to be left alone." John murmured, not bothering to turn his head to face her.

"No you are not fine, John Watson!" She said sternly, slamming the tea onto the counter top. She stormed over next to him. "Here you are all day, moping around the place getting more depressed as the weeks go on. The room is getting messier than it had when Sherlock was here! Not to mention that you are behind on your rent. Just because I am your friend and care for you doesn't stop me from being your landlady!"

John felt a shock to his system, and to admit, a little scared. There were a few times he had seen Mrs Hudson turn like a dragon and he had been glad that he hadn't been the receiving end of it. She is a force of nature when she wanted to be.

"I'm sorry." She sighed. "Sherlock's death has been a terrible shock to us all and I understand that it is taken you to morn longer than the rest of us because how close you were to him but now has been long enough. Sherlock would certainly have wanted you to go out and live your life."

John swivelled around to face her, tears falling freshly over the dry ones. "It is just so difficult but…well…you know how I felt about him."

Mrs Hudson nodded sympathetically. From the start she just knew that they would be the perfect couple, even before they knew each other. "I know which is why I think you need to consider seeing a therapist again."

A groan escaped John's lips. He had seen enough therapists to last him a life time. The cost a huge amount of money and they all have the same generic fortune-cookie advice he could get off of the internet for free.

"Now before you object, Molly has told me that there is a new psychiatrist around London and apparently he is quite good. And what is better is that he does make house calls," then in a lower voice she muttered, "although it wouldn't do you any harm to get out."

John got up. The blanket pooled around his feet revealing and interesting choice in underwear and a food-stained wife-beater. That was when Mrs Hudson knew that she made the right decision.

"I suppose so. It's not like I have other things to do." He said. Mrs Hudson's face lit up.

"I knew that you would say that!"

A knock resounded from the bottom of the stairs. John took one look at her to know exactly who it was down.

"You have already…" John began with a sigh.

"…already made the arrangement, yes." She cut in, looking away a little sheepish. She grabbed the mug of half-spilt tea and walked towards the door. "I will go and clean some of this up and keep him busy while you do something about that chocolate on your lips."

She hurried around the apartment, picking items such as ten week old socks and an apple core that might have been the fruit of Eden that it was so old. She rushed down stairs to open up the door for the therapist.

Meanwhile John was having his first shower in days. The water cascaded down his back, soothing all tensions he had felt for a while.

He dried off and had a quick shave, cutting a few places in the process. He did stop for a few seconds when he saw a small wisp of a moustache.

"That doesn't look too bad. Maybe I will grow it out another time…"

XXX

The therapist stood out on the steps of 221B Baker Street, next to Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Cafe. He was an unusual looking man, with a shock of thick blond hair and side burns leading to a thin moustache. He wore a pair of sunglasses, even though the clouds covered the sky and it was spitting with rain. He sported a beige jacket with white strips, bell bottoms to match. A large briefcase stood next to him. Almost like a time traveler from the seventies apparated onto the steps.

Mrs Hudson had seen some people from her past, but this wasn't one she would have ever thought to see cross through her doorway.

"Are, are you Dr William Scott? The therapist?" She asked confused. She trusted Molly, she really did, but this just seems so…so…she couldn't even think of the word.

"Yeah, and you must be Mrs Hudson." He had a distinctive American accent. He reached out his hand and she gingerly took it.

"Ah, yes right. Well, um, come in." She stood out of the way to let him come through. He past her and a waft of strong cheep cologne past her.

They walked up to the apartment. The man stopped for a split second, shaking a little bit, before moving on. "I love what has been done with the place Mrs H. The skull, the bullet holes in the smiley face." He drifted past certain objects, reaching the deer stalker hat that lay next to John's laptop. "Yeah, it is really great." His voice faltered slightly.

"Well, I suppose I will go back downstairs and pop on the kettle, shall I"

"That sounds amazing, but I will just have plain cup 'o joe thanks Mrs H."

She backed away from the room, shaking her head.

"We really must be desperate." She muttered to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

John exited his bedroom. Well, not exactly _his_ one. It was originally Sherlock's, but sleeping in the same room comforts him all the same. This as well as wearing some of Sherlock's shirts, even though they are a little large for him. Especially the purple one. That one always was his favourite on Sherlock and…wow…let's leave that one for another day.

He walked through the kitchen to see the most bizarre looking man John has seen in a while, but to be fair he hasn't seen many people for a while so he could have been caught out of the loop with the fashion. Even still, he was sure that people didn't go backward in fashion trends and look like they just popped out of Saturday Night Fever.

"Um, hello." John greeted as he walked up to the man. "You must be the therapist."

The man turned around and smiled. He was certainly unusual and foreign. No good British gent would wear his coat and sunglasses indoors.

"Hello Dr Watson, I am Dr William Scott. How are ya." He pronounced his name like _Willam Scaatt_

 _American. That makes sense._

Scott reached out his hand for John to shake.

"Dr William…strange…" John muttered as he took the doctor's hand. He was glad to see that the man had a strong shake.

"No, no. It's not Strange, _Scott_." Scott said, putting emphasis on his name.

John just waved him off. "Sorry, I was just saying how strange that your name is William Scott. My friend…his name has… _had_ William and Scott in it." His stomach dropped at the thought of Sherlock.

Scott cocked his head, "Ah yes. I am assuming that this friend of yours was Sherlock Holmes?" John could only nod. "Well that is what I am here for. Come and sit on the couch and you can tell me all about it, ok."

John followed the man. He sat in his own chair while the other doctor sat upon the desk crossing his legs.

"May I ask you why you wear sunglasses indoors?" John asked when he could not hold in the question in any more. It sparked curiosity in him.

Scott just laughed. "Oh I was just waiting for that question. I have very sensitive eyes, and wearing glasses are the only way that I can go anywhere without getting a migraine in five seconds."

"Oh." John said, although not fully believing that explanation.

"Anyway." Scott leaned over to get his briefcase and opened it. He retrieved a pen and a pad of paper. "We should get started. You would probably want to get done by 2:30."

John lifted his eyebrow. "How did you know that?" Half-past two was when Midsummer's Murder came on. Even though Sherlock wasn't there to reveal the culprit within the first five minutes (which he secretly missed), he still watched it out of habit.

The doctor froze, "Did I say you? What I meant to say was me because I have another appointment at that time." He bent down a quickly wrote something on the pad.

"So I do have a general idea why I am here. Your landlady and our mutual friend Molly told me the outline. Your friend Sherlock died three months ago and you have slowly become depressed, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Great." Scott grinned, not realising that that didn't come across as what he thought, but when you live with Sherlock for all that time things like that do not register in his head. "But before we go into the deep stuff, I would like to hear a bit more about you."

John took a deep breath and began. He told him all about Afghanistan, getting shot and returning to England. He told Scott about how he was close to suicide until he met Sherlock and how his world turned upside down. John continued to talk about their adventures in long painstakingly detail. He went into a mesmerised state that he didn't realise that he was waxing lyrical about him.

"Sherlock, well he was quite extraordinary," John said, "he had an amazing way of just looking at you and knowing your past and present. When we first met he managed to deduce that I was in the military overseas within five seconds. I was never so surprised in all my life."

All of the time John was talking, Dr Scott just smiled at his patient. He had never seen anyone so animated when they talked about a friend. He didn't even know that someone could even admire one with all that passion that John had shown.

"You really were close with Mr Holmes?"

"Yes. He was best friend and…and" John faltered off. He barely trusted Hudson with the information about his love for Sherlock, he wasn't that comfortable with the thought that some random person carrying it."

Scott lent in. "And what?"

John shook his head. "And there is not much else to say about him."

Scott scribbled something down. "Alright John, great. Just great. I feel like we are getting somewhere." He looked at his watch. "We are making good timing. Now John, if you are up to it, would you tell me about that day. The day he died.

John's heart froze again after that brief interval of happiness. And he knew that the only way that he was going to get through it was if he faced it properly.

So he talked. And talked. He talked about what happened previously with Moriarty, and what happened at that day at St Barts. He choked his way through the conversation that he had with Sherlock. The tears that he had been holding back fell down his cheeks. It was probably the most relieving experience he had for a while.

"He denied everything. He said that he researched me before he met, but I know that was a lie." He felt his voice rise. "I had seen him in action and I know that he could not fake that! I just don't know why he lied to me! I don't understand why he did it! Moriarty was dead before Sherlock killed himself, so why did he have to do this to himself?" And that was when he broke down into an ugly mess.

The therapist looked at him hesitantly. He had no idea how to proceed, or what words he could offer that would be of some comfort.

Well maybe there was…

"Um, John." He cleared his throat. "Maybe it occurred to you that he lied to for a reason."

"Excuse me." John looked up at him through tear crusted eyes.

"Well," Scott shifted uncomfortably, "this man sounds quite intelligent. Very wise, and smart. Very very smart, indeed. He is not a type that would give up life easy as you say. Maybe he did it for a good reason. Like protection perhaps?"

John pondered the thought. He had a good point. Sherlock was not stupid, as he kept telling everyone. Moriarty was a master in manipulation and he must have held something over Sherlock that forced him to take the route he went down.

"You know, Dr Scott, you might just be right. Thank you for putting my mind at rest."

The doctor gave him a calm smile. "My pleasure John." He got up looking at his watch. "Well I got to get going. It is a pleasure John."

John got up and shook his hand again. "Thank you again, Dr Scott. We must do this again another time."

The doctor froze. "Well, you see the thing is I am leaving tomorrow night. I have a convention, in uh, Switzerland, and I can't miss it. Then after that I am traveling around the place then back to uh America to visit my, um, sister."

John's heart dropped. It was the first time in days that he had finally felt relieved from the sorrow and depression from the incident especially now that Scott had brought up a reasonably, completely possible theory, because if we are honest with ourselves Sherlock is always trying to reach new heights of being a drama queen. Excuse the pun.

 _"That is way too soon." I hear you say. I would apologise but one does not apologise for art._

Anyway that was really off topic (this is why I have no friends).

Scott cocked his head to one side, conflicted between the two choices. He sighed when he saw the desperate look on John's face.

"Uh, what the Hell, I am sure I can fit you in tomorrow. I must say I am rather curious about Sherlock. I would be interested to hear more about him from you. And, you know, it is cathartic and such. Let's say I will come around at twelve."

"Thank you _again._ I really appreciate everything you have done for me." He showed Dr Scott out. "I am sorry for keeping you from you appointment."

Without looking back, Scott asked. "What appointment?"

 ** _Hiya Bokkies!_**

 ** _So yeah I made the Dr Strange reference because I am an absolute nerd and it was an opportunity I could not pass up._**

 ** _I also made more references because I can. If you spot them please tell me in a comments (Yes that was also another cheep shot to get comments)_**

 ** _Love from thecapefangirl xxx_**


	3. Chapter 3

John was getting ready for the day ahead. He had a proper shave and washed his hair. Once he finished he got dressed and left the room.

He popped the kettle on, taking a mug out in the process and walked through into the lounge area. He sat down and started to read the paper. That was when he heard a voice from the side of him.

"Hey John."

John jerked, giving a slight gasp. He turned around to see Dr Scott sitting on the couch wearing exactly what he wore the day before.

 _What the actual fu..._ he began to think before Dr Scott interrupt his thought.

"I am sorry to startle you, John. Mrs Hudson showed me through." His voice was a bit shaky as if he was startled himself.

John looked at his watch. It was only nine. Nine! "You are very early. I just wasn't expecting you."

The man got up and walked over to the window. "Yeah. It turns out that I had a change in plans." He peered out of it, not unlike Sherlock when he was waiting for something...or someone. "I am going earlier to Sweden and since Molly was not answering her phone I could not relay the message that I was going to change the time, I decided to come here myself and wait for you. I hope that isn't a problem?"

John, still in a slight state of shock, took a few minutes to register what the doctor said. "Um, I suppose not."

Scott tore himself from the window to where he sat the last time. "I like your shirt. It is a little big for you, though." He remarked as he gave John a quick look over.

John looked down at the purple shirt he wore and blushed. "Yes, well, it was originally Sherlock's."

He gave a lopsided smile at John, clasping his fingers together. "You wear his old clothes?"

"Um, yep." He stuttered, his cheeks burning up even more. "I find it comforting to wear his clothes. It is weird, I know, and I cannot even imagine his face if he ever saw me in it. He was always a bit defensive about his personal things."

"Interesting." He scribbled something down on his pad, his smile widening. "So you say that he was a protective man?"

"Well, yeah. I suppose so if I think about it, he was also protective about some people. They always said that he didn't have a heart, but the way he treated people close to him, like Mrs Hudson, proved otherwise." Then a thought popped into his head. "Just like the theory you brought up yesterday. You know, about Sherlock doing… _that_ to protect us. It's making even more sense now."

The doctor nodded at the last part. "I am glad that you are seeing it that way. So, tell me more about Sherlock. What other wonderful qualities did he possess?"

"Oh, well, he…he…" _was attractive? Was extremely sensual when he wasn't trying to be? He had a sense of humour that was unintentional most of the time?_ John wanted to say more. He wanted to tell him that Sherlock had the most memorising eyes that had no definite colour. That he wanted to run his fingers through Sherlock's curly hair.

"Well what John?"

"Um, nothing." He muttered. Would this man understand him when he said that he was in love with Sherlock?

"Are you sure?"

 _No_ "Yes."

His phone beeped from somewhere inside his pocket. He pulled up and looked at the message. He started to shake a little bit.

"Um we need to wrap this up." He put his phone away. "Before I go, I want to ask something. Is there anything that you regret not saying to him when he was alive?"

John had a sudden burst of courage. "Yes there is one thing I wished to say to him."

"And that is?"

John took a deep breath in. "That he was more than just a partner to me. More than just a friend. I wished to tell him sooner, that…that…"

"Go on"

"Thatilovehim." John said quickly. It was the first time he said those words out loud. Sure Mrs Hudson knew his feelings towards Sherlock, but never ever did he allowed those words to escape his lips.

"Say that again, but slowly. I didn't get it." Though from the look on his face he definitely understood what he said.

"I said that I love him. I wished I told him how much he meant to me, that he was the only reason I put up with his crap. Like putting brains in the oven. That I feel that there was no way I will ever survive living without him. That I wished I had more time to gather my feelings together and spill them out again to him. To finally open my heart to someone for the first time…" In a quieter voice he said the last few words, "and I wished I told him that every moment that we looked into each other's eyes, it took all my willpower and soul to not kiss him."

The doctor was frozen, shocked by this confession of love. It was like he never heard the word before.

Scott turned around, marched back to where John stood. He pulled his sunglasses away, revealing a swirling mixture of emerald green and deep blue eyes, ones that John knew only too well. The doctor bent down and kissed him. John had many kisses in his time, but this was the first time he actually felt the urge to continue.

Scott pulled away and looked deeply into John's eyes. "I love you too, John." He whispered. "I have ever since the first time you saved my life." There was another beep on his phone. He swore, torn to staying with John or going, but he knew that he had overstayed his welcome. He was putting John into danger.

He pulled away from his love, saying only. "I will come back to you I promise. I will explain everything then." He put his sunglasses on, "And, by the way, you do look good in my clothes," and turned on his heel then sprinted towards the staircase.

"Sherlock..." John could barely whisper, paralysed stock still. Maybe he was hallucinating? He had dreams like this before. He pinched his arm, and he felt the sharp pain.

Mrs Hudson ran into the room, terrified for her life.

"John I just saw Dr Scott run out. What is going on? I thought was coming only later?"

He stared at the door, gently touching his lips with his fingers. He could still taste Sherlock on his tongue.

"I have no idea Mrs Hudson. But what I do know is Dr Scott is amazing at his job."

 _ **HELLLOOOO BOKKIES!**_

 _ **This is just one of the ends that I have in store for you. Yes I have an alternative ending even though none of you have asked for it. It is a bit darker but just as satisfying.**_

 ** _Love from thecapefangirl!_**


	4. Chapter 3a

**_Just imagine that everything happened in the last chapter up to this point where Scott gets up to leave._**

…

"Well, what John?" Dr Scott brought him out of his daze.

"Ah, nothing." John waved his flippantly. This man wouldn't understand his feelings about Sherlock. It wasn't something that could be explained.

"Are you sure?"

 _No,_ "Yes."

His phone beeped from somewhere inside his pocket. He pulled up and looked at the message. He started to shake a little bit.

"Um we need to wrap this up." He put his phone away. "Before I go, I want to ask something. Is there anything that you regret not saying to him when he was alive?"

Oh there were. There was about a thousand things he wanted to say, but what was the point now? Breaking the strongest walls around his heart to a complete stranger was not going to solve anything. Sure it may have made him feel better, but it wouldn't have brought Sherlock back from the Netherworld

"Maybe just that he meant a lot to me more than he could ever have known, and that I was proud to be his partner and best friend."

Scott nodded. "Well, I am sure that he knew it, even if you never said it to him. And the feeling was reciprocated, John." The doctor reached his hand out for John to shake for the last time. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"And you." John said. "I will hopefully see you soon, after your trip."

Scott grinned. "I am certain that will happen." He picked up his things and strode out the room. Mrs Hudson happened to past him at the same time. Scott nodded to her.

"Was that Dr Scott?" Mrs Hudson asked as she walked up to him.

"Yes, of course he was." John replied, confused. "Who else would he be?"

"Sorry, I was just expecting him later." She stated as she walked into the kitchen to fetch on of her mugs. John stopped.

"So you didn't let him in?"

"No, I didn't even hear him." She said, raising an eyebrow when she saw John's bemused face. "What is wrong?"

John didn't reply. His mind was running through the different ways in which he could have gotten into the apartment without making a sound, and, from years of studying Sherlock's methods, he came into one conclusion:

He had a key.

XXX

 ** _Two years later…_**

He looked at himself in the mirror, admiring how far he had come.

John had now a steady job, he had finally gotten back into practice. Sure it was checking pimples on hairy men's backs and cleaning up snotty children's noses, but it was better than brooding at home. He had also a wonderful girlfriend, Mary Morstan, whom works with him at the clinic, and helped him to feel less defensive about his sexuality and he could honestly tell people he was not gay (he wasn't lying really, since he was bisexual, but he made it a point to never bring that up in a conversation).

Ahh ever since he met her, she brought greater meaning in his life. Mary was smart and loving and became an important part in overcoming Sherlock's death. Gone were the days when he thought about that mysterious man who helped him on his route in the first place. Those two days became more of an arb dream in a distant memory, along with the theory he had about Sherlock's death.

He straightened his jacket, and combing his moustache, unfortunately the only idea that he remembered from the experience. His phone buzzed beside him, giving him the reminder to fetch that very special present for Mary…

XXX

The evening started out well for our dear friend John, who was filled with the rush of adrenaline and alcohol, all bright eyed and ready to present the ring to Mary and ask her to be his lawful wife and rest when he came…

Out of all the nights that Sherlock had to come back alive, he had to choose that one, didn't he? Sherlock, master of disguises, boss of deduction, choose that friggen night to become queen of all dramas. He thought he could just strut in like he owned the place and take back John.

And the cherry on the cake was that John grew the moustache for Mary and she didn't even like it.

John stood coldly on the side of the counter, staring daggers at Sherlock, because he was kicked out the other two restaurants for trying to kill him.

"One word, Sherlock!" John hissed. "One word, Sherlock that was all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you are alive!"

Sherlock was losing his cool. How could John not remember? "I did. In fact I sent someone over to talk to you."

John looked back incredulously. "You sent no such thing! I do not remember anyone coming over to tell me that you were alive!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, adding more fuel to the fire. "Cast your mind back, John, to third month after that day…"

"Sherlock, I am in no mood to put up with your cryptic crap. Just tell me who."

Sherlock cleared his throat, changing his accent into a familiar American one. "So you don't remember Dr Scott."

John froze, the memories flowing back into his brain. The visits from the odd man with the sunglasses, none of the stories that made sense, like how one day he was off in Switzerland and the next Sweden… he should have known better.

"He, he was you?" John's voice went dangerously calm.

"Sorry who?" Mary interrupted.

Not taking his eyes off of Sherlock John explained, "Our, _friend,_ here took it upon himself to dress up as a character from a Douglas Adam's novel, and come around to the apartment for therapy sessions."

Mary could not hide a snigger. From what John told her, that sounds like something that Sherlock would do, but she thought it was strange that this Dr Scott was not mentioned before.

"It is not funny Mary." John said.

"It kinda is."

Sherlock cut in. "Well I should explain. I was back in London to communicate with Mycroft about Moriarty's underground network. I came back purely for business, and Mycroft warned me that is the way I should leave it, but I couldn't help but to see Molly. She told me how deep into depression you went. I knew that I should have told you, but it was dangerous to have too many people into the secret. So I decided to visit you and give you some sort of hint of my survival."

John frowned. "You didn't say anything of the sort; you just said that you did for a reason."

"Oh, I thought you would figure out that Dr Scott was me. I made it so simple." Sherlock said in a flippant tone. "Even Anderson could get it."

John never felt more insulted in his entire life. He leaned closer to Sherlock, pointing a finger in his face. Mary looked from her boyfriend to the unexpected visitor and realised something. She, like Sherlock, was a very observant person, but unlike him she knew when to leave. These two needed to sort whatever it was in private.

She slipped away quietly; only a slight, thankful glance from Sherlock was given to her departure. John, on the other hand, was chattering away, oblivious to where Mary went.

"How did you expect that I would understand? You gave nothing away!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "First of all, like you noticed then, my name was a combination between my original unused first name, William, and my second middle name, Scott. I then wore sunglasses inside, using the excuse that my eyes are sensitive. That, to begin with, was a ridiculous excuse and second, there was at one point I took my glasses off without a complaint to clean them…"

"I didn't see that…"

" _Then_ " Sherlock continued, ignoring John's comment, "I proceeded to make up excuses that made no sense. First I said I was going to Switzerland then to Sweden. I made up an appointment that coincided with Midsummer Murders. I managed to come into the house, uninvited, which could only be possible with a key. The list can go on and on."

"But Sherlock, those just showed that you are a creepy American, not yourself. Of course I found it strange, but not strange enough to assume anything different!" John sighed. How could he possibly guess anything otherwise? All he saw was a therapist who was desperate to know everything about Sherlock…Oh my God, he told him everything about what he thought about him.

"Wait, didn't you say that you just wanted to deliver your hint and leave? Then why did you stay another day?"

Sherlock blushed a little. He was hoping that John wouldn't remember that bit.

"Well, uh, you see… I loved hearing your thoughts on me."

John was quiet for a few seconds the said, "You are that self-centred that you wanted to TALK ABOUT YOURSELF WHILE THE RUSSIAN MAFIA WAS AFTER YOU!"

A few curious/worried glances from the other people around them, reminded John to calm down.

"It wasn't the Russian Mafia, it was the Ukrainian, and it wasn't about me being self-centred but me being curious about what you truly thought of me, if my suspicions were correct or not."

John crossed his arms and tilted his head, his heart beating quickly. He prayed that he was not going to say what he thought he was going to say.

"Well, that you were," he looked at John for a second or two, "no, _are,_ in love with me."

John gasped, turning around to deny everything to Mary, when he saw that she was not there.

"Don't worry, Mary isn't here, she went out a few minutes ago."

"Sherlock, how many times must I say, I. Am. Not. Gay!"

"You are right John. You aren't gay. You are bisexual." (even Sherlock agrees to my previous point at the top.)

John was speechless. Sherlock (goddammit did he have to admit it?!) had a point. He looked into his friend's eyes, subduing his anger.

Oh that beautiful arsehole was right. Damn it! Just when he thought he was over it!

"I hate you Sherlock." John muttered as he turned around.

"I know." A satisfying, triumphant smirk crossed Sherlock's face. John walked out the building with his new boyfriend in tow.

"So are you or I going to tell Mary?" John asked.

"Tell Mary what?" Mary asked from beside them. She flickered her eyes from John to Sherlock and back again then gave a small smile. "Ah, I see. I should have known that you were in love from the day you mentioned him." She nodded to Sherlock. "You couldn't shut up about him, you know."

John felt his face heat up, ready to explain everything when she held up her hand to silence him. "I know what you are going to say and you don't have to. I am just glad that you are finally happy. She turned to Sherlock. "Take care of him." She pushed away from the wall and signalled a cab that came down the road. Within seconds she disappeared.

"Oh I really like her. I hope you two can remain friends." Sherlock broke the silence. John gave him a glare in response.

"What?"

"You still annoy me." John muttered

"Good." Sherlock turned John's face. They were inches away from each other. "I am glad we got that sorted out." Then he kissed him.

John didn't realise he was missing this until now. He wrapped his arms around his waist and deepened the kiss. They were encompassed in their own world until they heard a whistle and clapping from behind them. Some teenagers were around them

John turned red. "Let's go home."

"To your place or mine?" Sherlock teased.

"To ours."

And with that they made their way back to 221B Baker Street.

 ** _Hallooo Bokkies_**

 _ **So I finally got that out of my system. I personally loved this one more than the other one. Maybe because there was more substance to it? Anyway I hope you like it, because I have no idea when I am going to post again. Concentrating on my school work and my original book is going to take out some of my time, but if you guys are desperate for me to write out an idea that you have, I would love to hear it out.**_

 _ **Love thecapefangirl**_

 _ **P.S: some of the references from the last chapter and this one:**_

 ** _Chapter 3:_**

 _ **"Great."Scott... This is a reference to The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when Brad sees his old Professor Dr Scott. (if anyone got that super arb reference you deserve a gold medal)**_

 _ **"I will not apologise for art" is from Llama's with Hats (watch it if you haven't. It is hilarious)**_

 _ **Chapter 3a:**_

 _ **"**_ _ **Not taking his eyes off of Sherlock John explained, "Our, friend, here took it upon himself to dress up as a character from a Douglas Adam's novel, and come around to the apartment for therapy sessions." Martin Freeman acted in The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, which was adapted from a novel from Douglas Adam with the same name. (also worth a read)**_

 _ **I hope that puts your minds at rest**_


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